My Sick Boy
by Antony Bellows
Summary: While puzzle-solving with the Professor, Luke comes down with a high fever. The Professor has to run errands, instead he has Clive watch over the boy. With his unwell state and Clive's history for mischief, will Luke be able to get any rest?  ClivexLuke


Sorry I haven't posted in a while. More fluff though. Sorry if they characters seem ooc

Disclaimer: Professor Layton belongs to Level 5, I do not own the characters, settings, etc.

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><p>"How are you feeling, my boy?"<p>

The professor stood at the young lad's bedside, a compassionate and worried expression upon his face. Of course, if your dear assistant fell ill so suddenly, you'd be worried too.

The boy coughed a few times, clearing his throat a little, "I'm fine, Professor," he assured the gentleman in a raspy voice. "You should be off at the university. I'm sure I just need a few hours of rest."

Young Luke Triton had collapsed just the other day in the town square whilst walking about with his idol. Flora and the Professor flustered over him, immediately abandoning the current puzzle they had been working on and escorted him to the nearest doctor. Apparently, Luke had been running a high fever for the past few days, "It's an amazement that he could even stand straight for these past hours," the doctor had explained. He had promised them if Luke had plenty of bed rest and perhaps strained his _legendary_ eating habits he would be up and solving puzzles within no time. Still, though, the Professor didn't quite feel comfortable leaving his little helper sick and alone.

Professor Layton shifted on his feet once more before nervously glancing at his watch. "You're right, a gentleman never allows himself to be late," he agreed, not entirely sure of himself. He adjusted his hat quickly and glanced at Luke once more before he made his way to the door.

Suddenly, two loud knocks startled them.

As the professor made his way to the door, the visitor impatiently swung it open, inviting himself into the lad's bedroom. Professor Layton sighed in relief as Luke curiously glanced over his visitor. The young brunette examined his guest, a cap-less figure stood at his doorway, dressed in a gray vest, blue blazer, and red shorts. He recognized him instantly, why it was no other than Clive Dove.

"C-Clive?" Luke managed to exclaim with his soar throat, "What are you doing here?"

Professor Layton smiled lightly, "I hope you don't mind, I asked Clive to take care of you while I was out. Thank you again."

"Not at all, prof," Clive grinned back.

"P-Professor, I don't need—" Luke had begun to object but paused when he abruptly began coughing.

The two adults watched with concerned looks, wondering if they should intervene with Luke's coughing fit. "My boy, please don't trouble yourself. I'd rather you not exert yourself while ill, just get some rest," Professor Layton said, patting the boy's shoulder caringly.

"If you'll excuse me, Clive," Professor told him, checking his watch once more, "I must be on my way. Please take good care of Luke."

Clive nodded, "Of course, I always do," he smiled, opening the door for the man as he left.

The elder boy waited a moment, making sure the professor had left, before shifting his attention to Luke. "Little Luke" was tucked tightly underneath several blankets, his cute face peeking out at the top of the bed, his cheeks rosy, and his eyes droopy. Clive skipped over to the edge of his bed where he sat down, successfully avoiding squashing the lad's legs.

"My, my, my," he mused. "What a state you're in. How are you feeling?"

Luke watch him closely, the taller boy had a mischievous grin spreading across his cheeks. Clive looked a bit taller than the last time Luke had seen him, perhaps a bit more mature…and just a tad handsomer than their last meeting…Luke shamefully looked down, embarrassed to have even think such a thought, feeling his face a little warmer than before. "I-I'm perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern," Luke stuttered, trying to sound a bit overconfident, but failing.

A sympathetic frown snuck upon Clive's face, "Don't lie," he advised.

Out of nowhere, the elder boy had reached over to Luke, carefully holding his face between his fingers and leaned in. Clive pressed his forehead against Luke's and closed his eyes, his cheeks blushing just a little at the sudden closeness.

"Clive?" Luke questioned, embarrassed as well at the movement.

"Y-you'll get sick," Luke tried to argue, squirming a bit under Clive's touch. He could feel his face heating up, not from sickness though, but embarrassment. Clive chuckled lightly to himself.

"Don't worry," he promised, "I can handle something like a cold…unlike _somebody_…" he teased.

Luke began to protest but Clive cut him off, "Wow, you're really warm," he confirmed pulling away.

The young lad, a bit depressed and confused after the older had scooted back, stuttered, "It's just a little fever, it'll be gone in an hour or so."

He had ducked his head down, trying to hide his blush. What were these new feelings he had begun experiencing? Luke had always enjoyed Clive as a friend and fellow puzzle-solver, but never _this._

Clive looked over the boy curiously, "What's wrong? Hungry?"

Luke shook his head side to side stubbornly, "I'm fine—"

A painfully loud growl was suddenly emitted from the young brunette's stomach. Luke sat there, his cheeks burning red, he watched Clive, waiting for a response.

Clive granted him one, he immediately erupted into laughter, giggling over Luke's embarrassed protests and explanations. "So, you're _not hungry_, eh?" he chuckled.

Luke scowled at the older boy, sinking further under his blankets. "Maybe just a tad…" he croaked.

Clive guffawed at his reply before rising from the bed. He grinned at Luke and asked, "Well, then, what would you like?"

"Eh?" Luke stared dumbfounded.

Clive smirked, "To eat. What would you like me to cook for you?"

Luke absorbed the information Clive was presenting him, "You cook?"

The fair skinned brunette stood back, a little insulted, "Of course I can cook," he bragged, "how do you suppose I would ever survive without a good meal? I had the servants teach me…" Clive rubbed the back of his neck, remembering his friends and servants of the Dove household.

Luke blinked several times, carefully reviewing his choice of meal. He opened his mouth to suggest something, but quickly clamped it shut, embarrassed. He tried once more, but all he got out was a stutter before reminding himself that it was a childish idea.

"What is it?" Clive asked confused.

He paced slowly back towards the bed, his shoes clicking softly at the hardwood.

Luke turned his head away from the elder boy and looked down as he softly requested, "U-um. My mum used to make me soup, a long time ago when I was sick…"

Clive tilted his head, "You want soup?"

He had not been expecting a serious answer. Perhaps some extravagant meal that Clive would never be able to produce fast enough that the boy could scarf it down, but this was a surprisingly easy order.

The elder boy stood there for another second, briefly remembering his own mother, before smiling at Luke and exclaiming, "Very well, your wish is my command!"

Clive paused to wink at the younger boy, smirking when Luke's jaw dropped, "It'll be just a moment."

The young man turned on his heel and exited the room, leaving Little Luke in the silence of his room and at the mercy of his own thoughts.

"That…was different," he confirmed to himself, coughing for a moment.

The lad looked about his empty room, wishing there was someone to fill it, before shaking that thought from his mind and snuggling deeper into his blankets. "I wonder how good a cook Clive is…" he wondered aloud, feeling his eyelids droop.

A few minutes later, a light knock was heard at his bedroom door. Again, without waiting for a response, Clive swung it open and slid into the room. In his hands, a tray holding a bowl with his soup in it, and on his face, an expression of utter pride and mockery.

"Ha ha ha! Prepare yourself, for the greatest soup you have every had the privilege of eating!" he exclaimed.

Luke groaned, finding Clive's entrance a terrible way to be awoken, and peeked out from under his blankets to view what he was boasting about. The young lad immediately straightened up when he noticed Clive had come bearing food. Glorious food.

Clive, still grinning and oblivious to the fact he had woken the younger boy, made his way towards Luke and presented the tray on the lad's lap. "Go ahead and tell me how magnificent it is, how you're so happy and lucky to have the great me taking care of you," he chuckled lightly to himself.

Luke rolled his eyes, and reached for his spoon.

The soup looked edible. It certainly smelled edible, noticing his mouth watering a bit. But could he really trust Clive?

After a small growl from his stomach, Luke decided it was best to ignore his conscious and to eat the bloody soup.

The boy braced himself and ate a spoonful.

Clive perked up anxiously, awaiting Luke's response.

"Judging by the average person's standards, I'd have to say this soup is horrid."

Clive's cheerful expression shattered at that, and the young man felt as if his heart dropped like a stone.

How could the great him, Clive Dove, fail to please the appetite of Luke Triton, the boy who will eat anything?

Luke slurped another spoonful of the "horrid" soup and smiled a little as he explained, "But I'm not your average person. I enjoy your soup quite well."

Clive smiled back, feeling cross between the need to slug the brat and to hug him. Instead, he sighed happily and sat himself in a chair by the boy's bed. "Ha! Of course," he laughed, regaining his mocking exposure, "but soon enough, I will cook you something that will satisfy even 'an average person's standards'!"

Luke laughed at his remark.

Almost immediately after he had eaten, Luke tuckered out. Clive chuckled softly to himself, adjusting the boy's pillow. The older lad picked up the tray Luke had eaten from and was about to bring it to the kitchen when he stopped himself. He hesitantly turned back to Luke and leaned towards him.

The young man lightly brushed Luke's hair from his forehead and softly replaced it with his own lips.

The action lasted only a second or two before Clive came over himself and embarrassingly pulled away. He suddenly felt that those dishes needed to be in the kitchen this instant.

But as the young man high-tailed out of the room, Little Luke opened one of his eyes. Though he was confused as to why Clive had kissed his forehead, he wasn't all that upset about it. In fact, he kind of liked it.

Luke turned quickly and covered his blushing face in his pillow. Moments later, Clive slowly walked back to the young lad's room. Luke continued to feign sleep the rest of Clive's visit until he had accidentally fallen asleep for real. When he woke, Clive was gone.

Luke had recovered, fully healthy, and back solving puzzles with the Professor. But the poor lad couldn't get his mind off Clive. When he asked the Professor about Clive, Professor Layton reluctantly explained, "Poor Clive seems to be too sick to join us. He's at home, ill, I'm afraid."

Luke thought for a moment, recalling a certain someone saying that "he can handle something like a cold."

Professor Layton and Flora casted Luke a confused glance as he started giggling behind them.


End file.
